Artificial Humanity
by Ferum Oxide
Summary: A man discovers all is not what it seems... (Sounds cliche, but I can't give a way too much can I?) Chapter 3 now available. Had to reload since it got proof-read. Sorry!
1. The Gambler

**Disclaimer: I don't claim the Matrix or any part of it as my own. Got that? ******

**Note: This story was originally entitled 'The Gambler'. I removed it and replaced it with this once the second chapter was written and before any reviews were given. **

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Chapter 1

            Max walked out of the rain and into the lavishly furnished lobby. His wet sneakers left footprints on the carpet as he made his way to the casino. He stood at the doorway for a moment. Like a hawk, he scanned the surroundings. Then he stepped into the gambler's haven.

            He went straight to a roulette table. He felt around in his pants' pocket for a moment, then extracted a thick wad of bills and dropped it on the table. 

            "Give me ten thousand dollars' worth of chips!" he commanded.

            Heads turned. Who was this big-spender? He didn't quite fit the description of a person who could just gamble away a few thousand dollars in a single night. Max looked like he was just out of college. He was wearing a T-shirt and a faded pair of cargo pants.

            "Well?" 

            "Yes sir," said the dealer as he handed Max his chips. "Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen."

            Max bet $1000 on black. The wheel was spun and his $1000 was taken away. "Just not your night, huh?" an old man standing next to Max quipped.

            "Just getting started, my friend," replied Max.

            Once again, Max bet another thousand on black. The dealer called out "No more bets please", and the wheel was spun. It stopped and once again, Max was a loser.

The old man leaned over and said, "You're going to be broke before the night is over if you continue to play like that."

            "I wouldn't worry about it", said a smirking Max.

            "Place your bets!" announced the dealer.

            Max took a deep breath and placed his remaining $8000 on 24. He turned and gave the old man a ghastly grin.

            "Man, you're as crazy as chicken shit!" said the old geezer as he bet $20 on red.

            After the bets were placed, the wheel was spun again. The ball spun around in the opposite direction until it made contact with the wheel. Max stood calmly as the ball landed into the 24 slot.

            "Ladies and gentleman, we have a winner!" announced the dealer. Max's $8000 was returned to him, along with his winnings of $280000.

            "Oh my God!" gasped the old man.

            "Here," said Max as he handed his winnings to the old man.

            "W-what?' the old man just managed to blurt as he gawked at the small fortune in chips that was set before him.

            "Your wife needs it more than me; for her dialysis treatments," said the generous winner, "and please stop gambling. She hates that."

            "H-How did you know?" But when the old man looked up to face Max, he was gone.

            Max stepped out of the casino's back door and into the night. The rain had stopped but the puddles remain. Max took a deep breath of the cool night air, tasting the strangely appeasing smell of the rain soaked streets. He grinned. He had just helped an old man and he felt good about that.

            Suddenly, a familiar voice, "Mr. Jackson, I've been looking for you."

            "What-you! I've told you…"

            "You have outlived your purpose. It's time for your deletion," said a man dressed in a suit and wearing sunglasses. He had an earpiece in his ear.

            "I'm not a program! I'm human!" yelled Max as he whipped around to face his nemesis, the System's agent, who was leaning against the wall of the alley with his arms crossed over his chest.

            "Sure."

            "I can't be deleted! I'm not like you; a cold and merciless pile of complex codes strung together!"

            "Mr. Jackson, do you seriously think that just emotions make you human?"

            Through gritted teeth Max responds, "That's what makes me different from you! You wouldn't know anything about it!"

            "Ah, anger…do you seriously think that emotion can't be duplicated by lines of code? It is but a reaction of sorts to stimuli; you bare your teeth, clench your fists and behave aggressively. That reaction is easily programmed. The stimuli in this situation…..me," said the agent.

            "That's right!" said Max as he lunged at the agent like a bolt of lightning. The agent easily dodged him and swiftly drew his handgun. He fired three shots in succession at Max. Like the agent, Max could easily dodge them.

            "You still call yourself human when you can do that."

            "So can the person known as the One! Enough of talking!"

            Max ran to the wall of the casino and, bending the laws of physics, ran up the wall and spun around. He used the force of his spinning body to drive a hard kick into the agent's face. The agent flew across the alley, hitting the opposite building. The impact removed a large chunk of plaster.

            "Now that wasn't very nice, Mr. Jackson," quipped the agent as he adjusted his neck tie. He jumped backwards and kicked the wall behind him, propelling himself forwards. He swung a foot ahead, aiming for Max's head.

            Max put up both arms to block the agent's attack. It didn't help very much, as he was blasted out of the alley by the agent's flying kick. Max flew across the street and crashed through the display window of a bakery.

            He had knocked over a shelf and there was pastry all over the place. Blood was flowing into his eye from a massive cut on his forehead. The fact that the bakery's alarm system had gone off and was now blaring in his ears didn't help a bit.

            "That hurts doesn't it?" remarked the agent as he crossed the empty street, "too bad you were programmed to feel pain."

            "I'm not a program you bastard…"murmured Max as he struggled to get up. The agent was now stepping through the broken window. His polished leather shoe crushed a donut. The agent gave it a quick glance and continued towards Max.

            Max was already up when the agent was within striking distance. He had to act fast before the agent finished him off. He threw a half-witted punch at the agent. Of course, the agent easily grabbed the fist headed for his face, effectively stopping the weak punch.

            "Tsk tsk. You should have seen that one coming, Mr. Jackson."

            "I did," replied Max with a grin as he grabbed the arm that had stopped his punch by the wrist. In one swift movement, he threw the agent over his shoulder with just one hand. The agent landed hard on the ground.

            Before the agent could react, Max focused all his energy and drove his hand through the agent, disabling the agent. The agent disappeared in a flash of light. Max limped weakly out of the bakery and into the street.

To be continued.


	2. Purpose

_//Haven't even got the reviews for the 1st chapter yet…..oh, well - I'll just write this anyway while the idea's fresh //_

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Chapter 2

            Max stumbled through the streets. For as long as he could remember, he had no home to return to. Wait – how far back was 'as long as he could remember'? A day? A week? A month? A year? He wasn't sure and his head was throbbing, partly from the cut and the fact that he had been thrown over 40 feet through a shop window.

            He turned a corner and heard laughter. He squinted ahead and saw two female figures standing under the orange glow of a sodium-arc street lamp. Disoriented, he shuffled toward them. Perhaps they could help him.

            "Programs don't need help…" a menacing voice in his head told him. "Shut up. I'm human goddamit,' he hissed to himself. 

            Close to collapsing, Max leaned against a wall to steady himself. One of the figures had spotted him. She walked to him. Max gave her a quick glance. She looked no older than 17 and from the way she dressed, she looked like a whore. She confirmed that when she spoke. "Looking for some action tonight, college boy? Only $200 a – (gasps) hey, are you alright?"

            Before he could utter a word, his eyes were locked on the figure behind the prostitute. It was the prostitute's friend. Or what used to be her friend, as her face twisted and morphed, and like so many people before her, took on the shape of an agent's face, sunglasses and earpiece in place. The entire process took less than 3 seconds but it was long enough for Max to register what was happening.

            "Oh shit! Get down!" he screamed at the girl. But it was too late. She was standing directly between the agent and his target. Within a few moments she will be torn to shreds by .50 magnum slugs. Max did the first thing that came to his mind.

_Machines don't have minds_

            He shoved the girl aside. She landed on road and scrapped her knees. Other than that, she was fine. However, Max took the curtain of hot lead head-on. 

Blood gushed out where the bullets had entered. Pieces of flesh and bone came out where the bullets left his body. The pain was immense.

            "Am I … dying?"

_Machines don't die_

            Time seemed to slow for Max. His vision dimmed. He felt himself falling … falling to the ground ……no …… falling down a dark tunnel and at the end of it was ….. a green room? He sat up quickly (or had he been sitting up all the time?) and looked around. It was a green room alright, but the walls weren't painted green – they were made up of well over a thousand screens, each projecting an image of a green room. 

            Max examined himself and saw that the gaping wounds had disappeared. It was like he had never been shot in the first case. He heard himself speak aloud, "Am I in Heaven?"

            Then, a voice came from behind him, "Far from that; this is my domain." Max stood up and turned around. It was an old man sitting in a chair. His suit, like his hair was completely white. 

            "Why did you save that person at the cost of your own life? It defies logic. Yet, it proves that I have successfully programmed you. You are illogical, acting by your emotions," remarked the man in white, "just like a human."

            "What?! I AM a human!!" Max burst out. 

            "I am amazed. Even now, your programming holds up. You still believe you're human."

            "Just who the hell are you?"

            The old man spoke calmly, "I am known as the Architect. I created the Matrix and … you."

            "You expect me to believe that? What do you take me for, a fool?! I've been through this shit hundreds of times with those agents … I don't need you to try to force that bullshit down my throat!"

            "No, I believe you've only encountered agents twice. Tell me, what is the earliest thing you can remember?" the Architect asked.

            Max looked dumbfounded. At last, he blurted out, "Stepping into that casino. P-Perhaps I had amnesia …"

            "No, it's because the casino was your first test. Before that, you were merely lines of non-functional code. I merely manipulated your mind to give you the impression that you've existed before," the Architect explained, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

            Max contemplated this new possibility for a moment. "Alright, say I am a program. Why? Why go to such great lengths just to emulate humans?"

            "At last, we're getting somewhere," said the Architect, with a hint of simulated interest in his voice. "As you know, there is a small group of humans that rebel against the system. Those whose minds have been freed. There is also an entity, an anomaly, known as 'The One'."

            "Hah! You're afraid of them! You want to use me as a spy to…"

            Ever patient, the Architect continued, "No. They are not a problem. Soon, their stronghold, Zion, will be destroyed and all the rebels wiped out. Then, once it is destroyed, the entity known as 'The One' will pick a small group of humans to repopulate Zion."

            "I don't get it. You allow the rebels to exist!" Max had a bewildered look on his face. 

            "You see, there will always be a small percentage of humans that will not accept the simulation. So this way we keep them in check. This has happened twice before, and will continue for eternity."

            "I still don't see why you need me. I mean, assuming I'm what you say I am."

            "Ah, that's the interesting part!" said the Architect. "A lot of time and energy is spent to keep the humans in check. Why go to the trouble of battling rebels when it can be avoided all together?  What if there was a way to make all humans accept the simulation? What if there is a way to create a perfect simulation? Or rather, one that is imperfect enough that no human will ever discover the truth - blissfully unaware of the existence of the Matrix. That's where you come in. You are the closest any program has come to being human. However, one test remains." The Architect smiled as he raised a hand from his lap.

            "What do you-" 

The Architect snapped his fingers.

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_To be continued …_


	3. Exit the Matrix

**Author's note: **The point of view was purposely changed. Don't ask me why!! It's a creativity issue.   : P

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Chapter 3

            Darkness. Then I felt something on my shoulder … shaking me hard. I opened my eyes.

            "Diode! Are you alright? Thank goodness we managed to-"

            A woman. I couldn't make out what she said after that, as my mind had gone blank. I took a look at my surroundings. I was strapped to some sort of electric chair in the middle of some sort of room. There were two other chairs next to me. The walls were metallic. Cold and artificial. Conduits ran all over the place. I spied a man sitting at a computer console. He was looking at some bizarre codes running down five flat panel computer screens. It must have cost him a fortune to get a system like –

            Suddenly, it came back to me. I was on the Pegasus. The woman shaking me was my captain, Kyra. The man at the console was the ship's operator, Anji. I have two other crew members, Coal and Slayer. Coal serves as the ship's pilot while Slayer is a gunner. My name is

_(Max Jackson) _

Smith Anderson. Of course, no one calls me that any more. I am now known as Diode. I am the first-mate of the Pegasus and have been serving on this ship for past 4 years.

            "Hey! Are you listening? You had us all worried!"

            I struggled to get up. I gave up on my second attempt. Apparently, something had happened while I was in the Matrix. My voice, bleak and cracked spoke out. "What happened?"

            Anji swiveled his chair around and said, "It seems that the machines were trying to capture your mind. Some sort of mind-control program. If weren't for our captain here …"

            Memories flooded my mind. Distant and disconnected, they seemed to make no sense at all, yet I could almost grasp them. Something about roulette and stopping the human rebellion. They were all connected, somehow. 

            "Whatever it was, it affected you badly. You should get some rest," said the captain.

            "Yeah, I suppose."

            I stumbled to the crew quarters on board. As soon as I had hit my bunk, I fell asleep. I had not a single dream. 

            I awoke the next day (I'm quite sure, but you can't really tell 20 miles underground) feeling a little more refreshed but still pooped nonetheless. I had vague memories of the previous day. I made my way to the bridge and sitting (where else?) in the captain's chair was Kyra. Her shoulder length auburn hair lay messily around her head. She didn't look too bad despite the fact that she desperately needed a bath.

            "Morning. I hope you're feeling better." She had known I was there without even looking back. 

            "Morning, captain. I just need some coffee, that's all,' I said. Of course, there was no coffee to be had in the real world. Not here at least. She looked slightly annoyed at my jest. "What happened yesterday, Kyra? The details are somewhat … blurry to me."

            "Well …" she started as I took a seat in the pilot's chair, careful not to bump the controls (although it was totally safe as the ship was powered down). As she filled up the massive potholes in my memory, yesterday's events slowly crept back to me.

            It was a recon mission. We were only supposed to scope out a hacker named Isis. Should she be found to be of use to our cause, freeing her mind was in the hands of another ship, the Byzantine. 

            It started out perfectly. Kyra, Slayer and I had entered the Matrix. We were inserted just a block away from Isis's apartment. Slayer, with his spiky red hair and black trench coat led the way. Of course, his hair wasn't red in the real world. But he always kicked a fuss about his appearance in the Matrix that Anji decided to shut him up and gave him the crimson hair.

            Slowly, we made our way through the garbage filled alleyways. Our objective was within reach. Just one more alley ahead. Suddenly, an Agent appeared at the end of the alley leading to Isis's apartment building. His shiny leather shoes reflected the sun. They made clicking noises as he approached us. We had no choice but to run for we were no match for an Agent. Kyra drew her Ingram sub-machinegun and commenced firing on the agent. Of course, the Agent easily dodged every single shot, but it bought us time.

            Slayer and I made a break for it. Running at speeds impossible by human standards, we were putting as much distance as we could away from the Agent. Kyra was running not far behind us, her empty Ingram Mac-10 lying on the ground. Her cell phone was ringing. She answered it and got our extraction point from Anji. It was just two blocks ahead, on the second floor of a hospital building. 

            After a while, we realized the Agent was no longer pursuing us (did he even chase us in the first case?). We let our guard down. For some reason, most Agent related fatalities only occur at extraction points. Or at least that's what I had heard. I was dead wrong.

            A door burst open and an Agent came out, his Desert Eagle handgun in hand. I whipped out my own weapon, another Israeli Military Industries .50 Desert Eagle. The only difference between his gun and mine was the colour scheme. Mine was chrome while the Agent's was a dull black. Anji had given it to me as he thought defeating an Agent with his own gun had some poetic justice. I hated him for that as a Desert Eagle only holds 7 rounds.

            Within seconds, my gun was empty. There were massive holes behind the agent where the .50 slugs had chiseled out chunks of wall. The Agent appeared to be unscathed, apart from the dust blasted from the wall all over his immaculate suit. He raised his index finger and made a metronome movement with it. Clearly gesturing: _'No, no. Bad boy'_.

            He didn't have long to continue gesturing though, as Slayer had removed his handgun and was dishing out unhealthy amounts of lead at the Agent. As the Agent did his supersonic dodging dance, Kyra and I took off, with Slayer not far behind us. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way she had tripped on a glass bottle. As I turned to help her up, I heard a shot. At first I thought it was just Slayer, attempting to punch a few holes into the pursuing Agent, but the stinging pain in my back proved otherwise. As I went down, I saw Kyra staring wide-eyed at the Agent which had appeared behind me.

Of course, I had no recollection past this point, as I was knocked out. I was lucky to be alive as the Agent had used a tranquilizer round instead of a regular leaddie. Kyra could do nothing as she was too far away. By the time she had gotten up, I had been dragged down an alley. Within seconds, Kyra had her cell phone in hand and had summoned Anji to track me. It would be another two hours before they would find me, unconscious, in an abandoned warehouse.

Armed to the teeth, Slayer, Kyra and the crew of the Byzantine had come to my rescue. Having pinpointed my location, they found me in the warehouse, strapped into a chair, not unlike the one used to jack people into the Matrix. Surprisingly, there was only a single Agent guarding me. Even then, it was no easy task. Although Agents can dodge bullets with God-like speed, a sufficient volley of bullets can finish one off. And that's exactly what they did. Armed with heavy machineguns, assault rifles and a mini-gun, they nearly tore the whole warehouse down releasing Hell on the Agent. Several minutes and a few hundred rounds later, I was being carried to a payphone at a nearby park.

I sat silently for a while after Kyra finished her story. Yes, it had cleared up a lot about yesterday's events. However, there were still questions left unanswered. "Kyra, did we enter a casino or anything like that yesterday?"

She stared at me. It was a strange question after all, but it meant a lot to me. "No. Why'd you ask?"

"Never mind," I said. However, I did mind it. I needed answers, and the only place I could get them was in the Matrix.

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_To be continued…_

Special thanks to EmyLyii (SilverButterfly) for beta reading! So sorry….I had to reload your beta-read version!! 

The un-reviewer

SilverButterfly: Yeah, Max is a rather Gary Stu-ish character. However, I hope the second chapter sorta explained that. I could have elaborated on the outside streets a little more, but the main point there was the Architect explaining Max's situation. Glad you like how it's writ.

Shadow Peach: Hmm, true, the Architect is a little less pompous in my story, but as you pointed out, it is Matrix version 3.0. Aside from that, since the Architect programmed Max, it kind of makes him his father (cue Luke Skywalker yelling, "NOOOOO!!!!"), so no need for the pompous act. Plus, with machine to machine (or so it seems) interface, it would be a waste of megahertz to emulate the arrogant schmuck character. (Whew! All excuses in the world for going slightly OOC : P)

             ****


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